Page 38 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)
Chapter Twenty-One
Malachi carries me into the bedroom, his movements deliberate, as though he’s savoring every second. The firelight spills in through the open door, casting a golden glow across the walls. He lowers me onto the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on my hips, warm and steady.
“Stay right there,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my forehead before he pulls back. His gaze locks on mine, intense yet soft, like he’s searching for something unspoken in my expression.
I watch him as he steps back, the dim light highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the corded muscles of his arms. He peels off his shirt, revealing the lines of his chest, and I can’t help the way my breath catches.
He’s beautiful—strong, sure, yet somehow vulnerable in the way he looks at me.
He steps toward me, and I lean back on my palms, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of this moment, of him, of us.
His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing against my cheeks as his eyes search mine.
“You’re nervous,” he says, his voice gentle, and I shake my head, though I know he can see right through me.
“Maybe a little,” I admit.
His lips curve into a soft smile, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’ve got you. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, and I record that in my memory.
I’ve got you.
He kisses me, slow and sweet, as though he’s mapping out every inch of my mouth.
My hands move on instinct, threading into his hair, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepens, and I surrender to the feel of him—the warmth of his lips, the way his hands trail down my sides, leaving sparks of heat in their wake.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet. His hands slip under my sweater, and he pauses, giving me a chance to stop him. When I don’t, he pulls it over my head, his eyes darkening as they sweep over me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Kat,” he says, his voice low, reverent. The way he looks at me makes my skin flush, my heart race.
His hands slide over my shoulders, down my back, unhooking my bra with an ease that feels practiced yet respectful. The straps slide off, and I let it fall to the floor, exposed yet strangely unafraid under his gaze.
His fingers trail across my skin, light and teasing, until his hands cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. I suck in a breath, my body arching toward him, and the sound pulls a low growl from his throat.
“You’re going to be trouble,” he whispers, and the rawness in it makes my heart stutter.
I pull him back to me, seeking his mouth again, needing the reassurance of his kiss.
He moves us slowly, lowering me onto my back, his body hovering over mine, his warmth blanketing me.
His lips never leave mine, but his hands begin their journey downward, exploring, worshiping, until they find the curve of my hips.
His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my pants, and he pauses, giving me a moment to object.
Instead, I lift my hips, silently giving him permission.
He slides them down, his eyes never leaving mine.
When he removes my panties, I feel vulnerable, exposed, but the way he looks at me—like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—chases away my nerves.
He kisses me again, slow and tender, as his hands explore my body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his fingers find the heat between my thighs, I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me, my body instinctively reacting to his touch.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his eyes searching mine for any hint of hesitation.
“Yes,” I breathe, absorbing his devilish smile.
His fingers move slowly, gently, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with a precision that sends waves of pleasure coursing through me. My hands grip his shoulders, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
An embarrassing moan leaves my mouth, and I quickly meet his eyes, seeing them fixed on my every reaction. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. To touch you. To taste you. To make you mine in every possible way,” he says, and, my God, I’m going to come if he keeps talking to me like that.
Then, with maddening slowness, he presses a finger inside me, and the sharp gasp that escapes my lips has my hands tightening on his shoulders.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his voice thick with something primal, as his finger begins to move, stroking me with an almost torturous rhythm. His thumb finds its way back to my clit, pressing down with the right amount of pressure to make my back arch off the bed.
“Malachi,” I whisper, his name falling from my lips like a plea, almost overwhelmed by how good it feels, by the way he’s unraveling me piece by piece.
“Do you trust me?” Malachi asks, his finger stills inside me. My mind is a haze of sensations, overwhelmed by how good his touch feels.
“Yes, I trust you.”
“Good,” he says, commanding and soothing. “Then don’t move.”
I freeze, my body taut with anticipation, as his mouth lowers to my breast. His lips are warm, his tongue flicking softly against my nipple before his teeth graze the sensitive tip, sending a shiver cascading through me.
The wet heat of his mouth is almost too much, and I fight the urge to squirm beneath him, every nerve ending sparking to life.
He releases my breast with a deliberate slowness, the cool air brushing against my damp skin where his mouth had been.
He trails soft, teasing kisses down my stomach, each one igniting a fire beneath my skin.
The intimacy of the moment, the way his hands hold me steady, has me both nervous and craving more, even as I try to process what’s happening.
When his lips reach my hips, my breath hitches, and then his mouth is on me, closing over my clit with a warm, gentle pressure. The sensation is electric, his tongue pressing and circling in a rhythm that has my hips jerking involuntarily.
“Stay still,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating through my core, but I can’t stop the way my body reacts, instinctively chasing the pleasure he’s giving me.
His hand grips my hip, firm but not harsh, holding me steady as his mouth continues its exploration.
“You taste like sin, and I plan to indulge in every damn bit of you.”
“Fuck,” I breathe.
Then he presses a second finger inside me, the stretch both unfamiliar and intoxicating. My body tightens around him, a mix of sensations overwhelming me—heat, pressure, and something building deep inside, coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke of his fingers, every flick of his tongue.
I’m burning, too hot, my skin flushed and damp, and I can’t stop the sounds escaping me—soft moans and breathless gasps that seem to spur him on.
His movements quicken, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, and I’m squirming beneath him despite his earlier command, unable to stay still under the onslaught of pleasure.
“Malachi,” I cry out, but he doesn’t let up, his touch relentless and precise. My hands grip the sheets beneath me, anchoring myself as the pressure inside me builds to an unbearable height.
It’s too much yet not enough, and I know I’m on the edge of something I’ve never felt before, something that sends shockwaves through me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my body shudders with pure ecstasy, waves of pleasure rolling through me, leaving me trembling and breathless.
Time seems to blur, the sensation lingering, until I finally open my eyes to find Malachi watching me.
His expression is soft but undeniably proud, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
He slowly pulls his fingers from me, and my body immediately misses the warmth and fullness of his touch. A shiver runs through me, and he moves without hesitation, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up over us.
“Are you cold?” he asks, tucking the edges snugly around me with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
I shake my head, still catching my breath. “No, I’m okay. Better than okay. That was...” I struggle to put into words how utterly incredible I feel.
His chuckle is warm and low as he shifts to lie beside me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close.
I melt into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, grounding me.
The fire crackles softly in the distance, the room dim and intimate, but all I can focus on is the heat of his body and the quiet strength in the way he holds me.
His erection presses against me through his shorts, a reminder of what we haven’t yet done. My hand drifts back, brushing against him, emboldened by how safe he makes me feel. I want to feel all of him, to know him in every way, to be closer to him.
But before I can go further, he catches my hand in his, his grip gentle yet firm. He lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles before settling it back against my chest.
“Sleep, Kat,” he says, a low rumble against my ear, warm and steady. “We have all the time in the world.”
The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is the steady beat of his heart against my back, a rhythm I never want to lose.
The sun filters through the garage window, casting golden patches of light on the ground.
Cade’s laughter echoes before I see him, that carefree sound pulling me toward him.
We’re back in my family’s garage—the makeshift hangout we turned into our sanctuary, a place to hide from the world when everything else felt too heavy.
“You’re so slow,” he teases, sliding the door shut behind him, his grin lighting up the room. His black hair is tousled from the breeze, and he’s already dropping into the oversized chair across from me, his energy infectious.